Not the Girl on Fire
by Allusions Blossom
Summary: Delly and Peeta have a little chat some months after the end of the rebellion.


_I am not The Girl on Fire._

My hair isn't a wild mess placed back sensibly in a single sunburnt brown braid and my eyes are endless blue, almost like the sea.

_I am not the Mockingjay._

My skin isn't olive and tanning. An alluring shade both exotic and familiar to Twelve all at the same unexplainable time.

_I am not the Champion._

I have no proficiency with weapons of any type; bows and arrows included. Had I, god forbid, been reaped I would have died quickly and probably gruesomely right when I stepped off the platform.

_I don't have his heart._

I'm kind, shy, smiley, not quick minded with a sharp tongue and a fierce determination that is unparalleled anywhere on earth.

_I am nothing like her._

I'm not Katniss Everdeen.

Sometimes I wished I were, though. Sometimes being most of the time, that is.

It would be nice, I think. To have the admiration, sympathy, and love of an entire nation all at once that was brought back form the verge of complete destruction thanks to yourself truly. If I were her I'd be brave and fast thinking, loyal and quick witted, but most importantly I'd be all that he sees, which to me, is the most important thing of all.

But, I'm not Katniss Everdeen. I'm Delly Cartwright. The pudgy blond girl with a hook of a nose and too-large silver grey eyes that look more than a little eerie on my too-pale skin. Well, I'm not as tubby anymore, and I have gotten a bit of a tan since the end of the rebellion, but the above statement still stands. I am just Delly Cartwright. No one of importance.

It has been exactly eight months, and two days since the end of the rebellion, and it's been exactly eight months since Peeta's return to Twelve. He's broken, and haunted, and a far cry from the boy I grew up with, but he's still Peeta. My Peeta.

He avoids most people now that his family is gone. He even avoids her, as she does him; but he doesn't avoid me. Of this I am quietly happy.

"Have you spoken to Katniss lately?" I ask one day, casually as we sit by the lake watching the sunset. He hesitates for a moment. We don't speak of Katniss. We don't speak of his family. We don't speak of anything in the past unless he starts it. We aren't quiet _there_ yet.

I fiddle with my shoelaces innocently, trying to appear as if I'm not waiting on his answer with baited breath.

I like Katniss Everdeen, I really do.

But I'm not Katniss Everdeen.

"Briefly," he mumbles, not bothering to look at me.

We sit there for a moment in silence. I imagine I could almost hear dusk's crickets chirping.

"When?" I ask curiously. He hadn't mentioned it to me and this bothers me a little, more than it probably should to be honest.

He then told me how awhile back he had visited Katniss' house and planted prim roses in her garden and I felt tears began to form in my eyes. My Peeta. My selfless, always caring Peeta. Even though he's half broken himself he's always think of others first.

Blinking back the tears that I was lucky enough to shed without being noticed, I felt a pinch of anger rise in the pit of my stomach. I like Katniss, I really did. I admired her for more than a few reasons, but still. Still I knew she didn't deserve this devotion. And I wanted to tell my best friend exactly that. Wanted to scream it to him, wanted to make him understand that she was just as flawed and as imperfect as the rest of us and that he could find someone who would love him just as much as he loved them.

But I don't. I never do.

"It must be rough," I say solemnly, no longer gazing at him. "To love someone so deeply the way you love her and have them not return your feelings." Maybe a part of me wants these words to sting, maybe a bitter, spiteful part of me hopes they do, but the biggest part of me, Delly, just wants to get them off of her chest.

For the first time since we begun speaking he looked at me. His blue eyes seem surprisingly hallow and void.

He mumbles something under his breath that I strain to hear over the crickets that are now certainly not in my imagination.

"Excuse me?" I ask.

"I said that you know exactly what it feels like, Delly." He gives me a knowing look at my facade of normalcy, of contentment, and it begins to crumble.

I feel my eyes start to water again and I almost want to laugh at the thought of it all. I know he knows, he knows I know he knows now. We all know. My face flushes with heat as I look away from his gaze back out onto the still water.

I want to say something, anything, but I can't find the words. Peeta gathers his before mine.

"I'm sorry, Delly," and I know exactly what he is apologizing for. He's apologizing for not being able to love me the way he loves Katniss, and this knowledge hurts and stings and reverberates through every inch of me as I slowly nod my head, letting my tears fall onto my knees which I have now curled up to my chin where we sat.

"And I'm sorry too, Peeta," I tell him honestly, more honest than I've ever been in my life.

He blinks. "Sorry for what?"

"Sorry I can't be Katniss for you."

Because if I could, I would.

* * *

_AN: I wrote this along time ago and I like to think I've gotten at least somewhat better since then. Still, I hope you enjoyed this for what it was. _


End file.
